Since starting this school year, I have managed to finish at least one book a week. This week, I didn't. Lots of reasons why, but I surprised by how disappointed I was in myself for not finishing anything. Obviously, this is not a real problem, but it was a good example to me of putting unnecessary expectations on myself. Yes, I have the goal to read more. Yes, I am happier when I make reading a priority, but finishing the book cannot be the only satisfaction I get out of the process. And measuring myself against other people's reading pace cannot be a marker for success, either in support of what I'm doing or against.
I read recently in one of my Brene Brown books that expectations are resentments in the making. That's a tricky thing to say since expectations (which often lead to the goals I set for myself) can sometimes give us something to strive for, but I have been on a quest in recent years to not be defined by external markers. In living authentically, I don't want to use comparison to find my standard of living.
I'm not sure this is making any sense, but I wanted to write and had no book review to write. So, here it is.
Happy October. I'm so glad the fall is really is here.
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